


Wrath

by orphan_account



Series: Prompted/Requested fics. [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’d never thought the Angel had felt much concern about him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Pairing: Sastiel Word: Wrath._

His hands were shaking.

Of course, it could be due to the days of rather unpleasant torture he’d suffered at the hands of demons. Though he was fully healed now, the memory of those injuries was still very fresh. Every time he moved, he found himself accommodating injuries that were no longer present.

Sam, however, was of the mind that the trembling in his hands – his entire body, in truth – was due not to the events of the last few days, but of the last few minutes.

He’d always had faith that Castiel and Dean would find him, he’d never imagined they’d leave him there, but he hadn’t been expected the force with which Castiel would avenge his pain. The bloody swath he’d left in his wake, the raw fury in his face – his _eyes –_ and the merciless slaughter of every one of the demons who’d held him had been as intimidating as it had been mind blowing.

Had Castiel really been driven to such anger because _he’d_ been hurt? Dean, he could understand, but he’d never thought the Angel had felt much concern about _him_.

But the truth was painted before him, in the still warm blood covering Castiel’s skin and clothes. His eyes still fierce and his demeanour tense. His eyes darted from one corner of the motel room to the other, and had been since Cas had transported them here mere moments ago; as though searching for enemies waiting to burst forth. Sam, stood in the centre of the room, felt the need to calm the man. To assure him.

“Cas.” He croaked, voice raw from thirst. He hadn’t been fed or given water in almost three days, but he couldn’t care about that now. “Hey, you good?”

Cas finally looked at him, right at him, and Sam nearly stepped back when he saw the intensity in those eyes. After a long moment of staring, in which it felt as though Cas were trying to actually see inside of him, he answered simply. “Yes.” Another long moment, “Are you?”

Sam swallowed deeply, then nodded. The air was tense, and somewhat awkward as neither knew what to say. Well, Sam imagined _he_ was the one who didn’t know what to say, while Cas just didn’t think it necessary to say anything at all. It almost made him smile.

_‘Classic Cas.”_

Mentally shaking his mind, Sam stepped forward tentatively, placing a gentle hand on Cas’ arm “Why don’t you sit? I’ll get a wet towel and you can clean up some?”

Castiel didn’t move for a moment, still very much in the grips of whatever had caused such an explosion, but eventually moved to perch on the end of Dean’s bed. Dean himself was on the way back from Sam’s temporary prison. When every enemy had been smote, Cas had freed Sam, healed him and offered to bring them both back via teleportation, but Dean had declined. He never did like travelling that way and was reluctant to leave the Impala.

Quickly grabbing a facecloth and dousing it in water, Sam took a moment to quench his thirst, careful not to drink too much and make himself sick.

When he returned, Castiel was staring into space and didn’t respond when Sam tried to hand him the cloth. So - feeling slightly silly - Sam knelt down on the floor in front of Cas and slowly pressed the damp towel to one of the many blood smears on the Angel’s neck. Cas didn’t react at all, so Sam went quietly about cleaning the gore from his skin.

After a while, Sam looked up to see that Castiel was looking at him. Caught in the gaze of those eyes, like the ocean during a fearsome storm, Sam said the only think he could think to say.

“Thank you.”

He swallowed again, uncertain about what Cas was thinking and feeling rather lost because of it, and finally looked away, resuming his task.

He startled and paused when he felt bristly hair brush against his forehead, followed by a greater pressure. His breath left him, his heart stuttering in his chest when he realized that Cas was pressing his forehead against Sam’s. It was the most intimate he’d ever been with the Angel, and he found that in that moment, he didn’t mind in the least.

Closing his eyes, Sam pressed back ever so slightly and let his thumb leave the surface of the cloth to – tentatively – brush against Cas’ cheekbone.

Neither man moved for a while, only Sam’s thumb caressing the warm skin beneath it, before he took a deep, shaky breath and finished cleaning his saviour. Again, he whispered the only thing he could think to say.

“Thank you.”


End file.
